Hurry Up, You're Ready
by BeyondCanon
Summary: Post S3 Faberry. The first time Quinn met Rachel after graduation, they both were changed. "I can't believe I'm seeing you," Rachel told her. Quinn smiled; it felt good to be acknowledged, to be cared about. "I can't believe I'm in New York."


**an;** This fic took over my mind and I could do nothing but write it; I hope you enjoy it. A special shout to Air for the insights and the beta'ing!

On with the story.

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**Hurry Up (You're Ready)**

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I

The first time Quinn met Rachel after graduation, they both were changed. Rachel was wearing a white dress and a green coat; she looked simultaneously solemn and light, serious and impulsive.

She walked towards Quinn, and for the first time that year Quinn didn't know what to say. Rachel, on the other hand, didn't hesitate when she touched Quinn's left shoulder and pulled her in for a hug. Quinn closed her eyes, relieved; Rachel still smelled like orchids and spring.

"I can't believe I'm seeing you," Rachel told her when they finally broke apart.

Quinn smiled; it felt good to be acknowledged, to be cared about. "I can't believe I'm in New York."

Rachel took her by the hand, as if they were the closest of friends. Quinn wished it was true. "There is so much for you to see. Three days won't be nearly enough," she said, leading the way inside her building. Her palm felt warm against Quinn's.

The building was old, but well preserved. The stairs creaked every other step, and a cat rested proudly on the second floor; Quinn caught the faint smell of someone's cooking and the soft noise of distant chatter.

When Rachel opened the door to her apartment it was small and pink and thoroughly organized, just like Quinn expected. There were shelves with movies and books next to the television; a small, white couch; a tiny study desk; and a pin board filled with pictures.

"It's lovely," Quinn said, looking around. Rachel fretted with her hair and the hem of her dress, so Quinn took her hand and gave her a calming look. "It's very _you._"

"It's not much," Rachel answered, still looking into Quinn's eyes. "But thank you." Quinn wondered where was the extrovert Rachel Berry and her endless rants about everything. A small silence fell; Rachel bit her lower lip. "Would you like to see what I have planned for your visit?"

"Of course," Quinn replied. It was hard not to smile again when Rachel placed on the table a map painted in several colors with her handwriting.

"I wasn't too sure about which places you have visited and which you haven't, so it's divided in restaurants, charming little places I am dying for you to see, museums, plays, musicals, shows, and general sightseeing, with the respective working hours, prices, and dates." Rachel explained in a single breath, and Quinn felt more at ease to see the Rachel Berry she was used to.

Rachel continued to explain, and for a long time Quinn just listened.

II

"Yale is everything. I could be there forever," Quinn said when she opened the door for Rachel. "It's so beautiful, from the buildings to the library to the open spaces. There's so much to explore, so many people to meet." The corners of Quinn's lips lifted discreetly.

They placed their orders, and Quinn decided the coffee shop Rachel had unilaterally picked was, indeed, charming. The big windows allowed an overflow of sunlight to enter the café, painting the wooden furniture in a beautiful honey. There were all kinds of chairs, from the elegant and vintage to the big, comfortable ones to curl up with a book.

"It's such a big place, so different from Lima." Quinn paused, trying to find the right words. She looked to their drinks placed on the counter and grabbed them in her effort to do something with her hands. "Lima felt too small, all the time. I felt suffocated, oppressed, unhappy. There wasn't enough space, choices, or anything at all."

Rachel nodded, and even though she always considered all communication flawed and imperfect, Quinn hoped she was being understood. They sat on a table by a window; seeing people passing by felt comforting, in a way. Quinn looked outside for a moment.

"Now I feel… free," she confessed, staring at her own coffee mug. "I don't have to fulfill expectations or fit into any role. No one knows of my baggage and no one thinks they know everything about me." She spoke carefully, measuring every word. "I feel, for the first time in my life, that I can breathe." She looked at Rachel; she found her with tears in her eyes.

"I'm so proud of you, Quinn." Rachel told her over the buzz of customers entering and leaving the coffee shop. "You're going to be great someday." She said with soft certainty; Quinn remained in silence, overwhelmed.

"Thank you." She finally answered, earnest and grave. "It feels good to finally say all this to someone who _knows_ me and where I come from." A small bird landed by the sidewalk outside, and Quinn let herself be distracted watching it look around and search for food.

Rachel touched Quinn's hand. "Thank you for saying it to me, out of all people."

Feeling brave, Quinn intertwined their fingers. "You're my friend, Rachel. I know you still don't believe it, but you are." Rachel blushed, a shy smile on her lips. It felt like progress, and Quinn didn't let go of her hand.

III

"You're going to love it," Rachel said, and she wasn't wrong.

They entered The Strand Bookstore, and Quinn felt astounded. It was everything she dreamed a library should be: old, gigantic, with every book Quinn could ever dream of reading. Quinn wandered around; she let the tip of her fingers touch the books' bindings, basking in the physical contact.

The smell of books waiting to be opened filled her nostrils, and she couldn't choose one. "I don't know where to begin!" She told Rachel, who just smiled broadly and shrugged. "And you're not helping."

"I already brought you here, haven't I?" Rachel answered with a smug smile, and Quinn knew she had lost the argument.

Quinn explored for as long as she could; her arms hurt from carrying too many books at once, only to leave them behind after finding more interesting ones. She wished she had more time and money, and she rolled her eyes when Rachel giggled at her contentment.

"I like seeing you happy," Rachel said, searching for Quinn's hand. Quinn looked at Rachel and realized she was, indeed, nothing but satisfied with where she was and who she was becoming.

She let the feeling fill her lungs and her veins before she said anything. "I like being happy." She paused. It was quiet and deserted around them. "I like being your friend." She tried to remember the times when she disliked Rachel, or when she envied her, but it felt like centuries had passed since.

Rachel placed her head on the crook of Quinn's neck, and for a moment they stood staring at the leather bound books in silence.

"There's still a lot to see," Rachel finally said, pulling Quinn towards the exit — with a quick stop to buy a hardcover edition of The Great Gatsby for Quinn's mother.

Quinn stared at the sky as they left the library. It was a beautiful day outside.

"I hope you're not tired — I planned on a slow day today because we're going out later and I know we have to be careful about not pushing you too far; so please do let me know if your legs, your back, I don't know, if you don't feel comfortable-"

Quinn stopped and looked at Rachel. "Rachel." It was commanding enough; Rachel stopped talking. "I know my limits. I promise to tell you if it's too much." She thought of the silence, and how no one ever mentioned the accident. Maybe they were too afraid; it was easier to fake normality. "But thank you for the concern."

IV

Quinn looked at herself in the bedroom mirror, donning a black dress and smoky eye make up. The perfect amount of hair product and she was ready for a Friday night in New York with Kurt, Rachel and Santana. She thought about the unexpectedness of life bringing together unlikely allies, and how eager she was to see her best friend Santana.

"Hey." Rachel's voice brought her back. "I just wanted to see if you were ready." Quinn looked at Rachel and admired how her cerulean blue dress fit against her body.

"You look beautiful." She said, earning Rachel's bashful smile once again. "And I am ready. I just wanted to do one last thing before we go out." She went to her bag and took a package out of it; she hoped Rachel wouldn't notice the slight tremble in her voice. "I've been carrying this around since I got here."

Rachel took the package out of her hands and the sound of paper being ripped apart filled the room. "Oh, Quinn." She said, with the most indescribable tone, as she held the Yale sweatshirt close to her. "It's perfect."

"I realized I never gave you anything, and I wanted you to have something to remember me. So there you go." Quinn explained, relieved her gift had been a good idea. "I had to guess your size, but I think it'll fit."

"Thank you." Rachel whispered right before pulling Quinn in for a hug. Quinn held her tight by the waist, inhaling her perfume with eyes closed. She could feel Rachel's heartbeat against hers, strong and fast. It felt like making amends, and it felt liberating. "You're a great friend."

The phone interrupted them; Rachel answered. "It's Kurt," she mouthed. Quinn took her purse at the same time Rachel ended her call. "We should go." She stretched her free hand to Quinn to hold. It felt natural.

"You are the beautiful one, you know," Rachel said right before they left the apartment.

V

"Quinn Fabray!" Kurt yelled over the crowd.

"Get your ass over here right now!" Santana smiled and opened her arms for Quinn to give her a hug. "I'm glad you're back to the haircut Britt and I got you, because you look just _fine_." She took a step back and looked at Quinn approvingly. "Short, sexy and blond is your best look, Fabray. Not that virgin shit. Or that punk shit. Okay?"

Quinn hugged her again. It had been too long since she had last heard Santana's voice. She laughed against Santana's hair, and her smile lit up her whole face. "I missed you too, Santana," Quinn said, squeezing Santana one last time before letting go.

Kurt was next in line, kissing Quinn's cheeks and making a comment on her beautiful skin. Rachel returned with their drinks; they toasted to friendship and the future.

"Let's sit and talk," Kurt said, and there was so much catching up to do they spent an hour telling each other what they were up to. Quinn told them about Yale, and her classes, and her teachers; she told them funny stories about her roommate. Rachel told them about NYADA, and auditioning for a few plays, and the competitiveness; she told them funny stories about her neighbors.

Santana told them about the small, boring roles she had gotten, about being a back up singer on a record, and sharing an apartment with a handful of complete strangers; she told them funny stories about waitressing at 3am. Kurt told them about the courses he had enrolled into, his internship in the fashion industry, and everything he was learning; he told them funny stories about designers and their crazy.

Quinn felt lightheaded by then; Santana's eager drinking was still a bad influence.

"We should dance," Rachel said, clearly drunk. They went down to the dance floor, making their way through the crowd. An electronic indie was playing, loud and contagious; Quinn felt her hips moving on their own accord.

She closed her eyes and let go, moving to the beat. She wouldn't know how long she was dancing before Santana whispered in her ear that some tall cutie had been staring at her. Quinn looked at him and said to Santana she wasn't interested.

"Then you better gay it up, Fabray, or he's going to make his move." Santana dared her; Quinn lifted one eyebrow in response. She turned around and pressed her back against Santana's front; Santana wrapped an arm around her waist and took control of their joined rhythm. "He's looking," Santana said, her breath against Quinn's neck as she pretended to kiss it. "Let's give him a show."

Quinn saw him leave, and Santana let her go.

"My turn," Rachel said, and she pulled Quinn so they were flush against each other. Quinn's mouth felt dry as Rachel's hand found the small of her back and their hips moved together. Quinn's arms were around Rachel's neck, and their foreheads touched; it was so hard to focus on anything else.

"Rachel, what are you doing?" Quinn asked, because their mouths were too close and, unlike dancing with Santana, Rachel was making her head spin and her heart race. Rachel had one leg between hers and their breasts were touching; it wasn't supposed to be this way.

"Dancing." Rachel answered, and Quinn couldn't tell if it was mischief, or if she was the one reading it all wrong.

VI

Quinn woke up and it was like nothing had happened. She was on her side, facing Rachel, who was still asleep; the clock said it was 9am. She frowned. She had a headache and her mouth felt dry, but it was all bearable. She stretched and turned.

She took a long shower, and she tried to understand the previous night. She went to Rachel's fridge and took a few fruits; she cut them in small pieces and put them in two bowls. She got an aspirin from her purse, a glass of water and the bowl with fruits and placed them next to Rachel. She grabbed a book in her suitcase and sat on the couch with her bowl.

The bowl was empty and long forgotten when she heard Rachel moan.

"You are hungover, I imagine." Quinn said as she entered the bedroom. "I got you an aspirin." Rachel pouted. Quinn smiled, in spite of herself, and sat on the bed. "It will make you feel better."

Rachel finally accepted the offer and took her medicine. "This is the biggest headache of my life," she whined as she took the fruit bowl from Quinn's hand.

"That, Rachel, is called having three Martinis too many." Quinn said, a smirk on her face. Rachel nudged her with her foot and groaned; Quinn's smile only grew bigger. There was a certain domesticity to waking up together and having breakfast together Quinn was not used to, but welcomed nonetheless.

Rachel ate in silence, and Quinn stared at the window. "Now, shower," she said when Rachel was finished. Rachel nodded and left the bedroom. Quinn felt nervous with their silence. She could still remember the feeling of Rachel against her, her nails scratching Quinn's neck, her thigh against Quinn, applying pressure.

Time passed; Rachel was soon back to the bedroom, hair damp and her towel on her shoulder. She sat by Quinn's side, and she wasn't smiling; Quinn's stomach turned. She looked into Quinn's eyes. "I'm sorry about yesterday. I was drunk and feeling silly, and I'm sorry."

Quinn's heart felt out of control, but she tried not to let it show. "There's nothing to be sorry about."

"Yes, there is!" Rachel insisted, frowning. "I got carried away, and I got confused. You're so pretty, Quinn, and so wonderful." She looked at Quinn softly. "Everything was happening so fast, and I would never make you feel uncomfortable if I weren't so intoxicated. I don't want things to be weird between us."

"Things won't be weird between us." Quinn said, and they left it at that.

VII

The dull ache was there, again, reminding Quinn she would never fully recover; she stopped and closed her eyes for a moment. "Could we — maybe — stop for a second?"

Rachel's eyes widened in understanding and worry. "Of course, Quinn. We've been walking for hours; I completely forgot we should take breaks-" Quinn raised a hand and stopped her; the last thing she needed was Rachel feeling guilty.

She could see the hesitation and the uncertainty. She could see how Rachel's hands went forward, as if to touch Quinn, and then retreated on an afterthought. "Let's just go to Central Park and lie down for a while. The Met will be here when I come back."

"Okay." Rachel looked at Quinn like she would break at any second. The way out of the museum and into the park seemed much longer than Quinn had anticipated, and it was hard not to grimace when she took a false step.

Rachel looked at Quinn and walked by her side, but she didn't enter Quinn's personal space; she fretted with her coat, her dress, her hair and everything that was not Quinn.

The first stretch of unoccupied grass seemed heavenly. "Here is just fine." Quinn sat slowly, and lied carefully on the grass, placing her purse under her head. The scent of trees and leaves was pleasant, and she let out a sigh at the immediate relief on her lower back.

Rachel sat by her side in a respectable distance.

The silence bothered Quinn.

"You are being weird the whole day." She said, turning her head to look at Rachel. "You're holding back and thinking twice before speaking."

Rachel bit her lower lip and looked to the ground. "I'm sorry."

"I like the way things were. Let's go back to that." Quinn patted the space next to her. "Lie with me." Rachel complied; Quinn wrapped an arm around Rachel's waist and pulled her closer. Rachel put her head on Quinn's shoulder and a hand on Quinn's stomach.

"I'm always afraid I'll scare you away." Rachel said, playing with the hem of Quinn's shirt.

"I know." Quinn answered, staring at the sky. She toyed with Rachel's hair. "You won't."

Rachel's cell rang and she answered; they were close enough so Quinn could hear the conversation. "I am _dead_," said the other person on the phone.

"Hello to you too, Santana." Rachel stifled a laugh and looked at Quinn.

"What year is today? I need a fucking hamburger."

"Get out of bed, then." Rachel smiled and rolled her eyes. Santana answered something Quinn couldn't understand. "Stop being a child and Quinn and I will go out with you." Rachel said before hanging up. "Santana just woke up and she wants a hamburger." She told Quinn.

Quinn raised one eyebrow. "It's the middle of the afternoon."

"It's Santana." Rachel shrugged, and Quinn had to agree. "It will take her at least an hour to get up and get ready, though. You have time to rest."

Rachel positioned herself even closer; she was half on top of Quinn by then. Quinn sighed in satisfaction. She closed her eyes, feeling nothing but Rachel's steady breathing.

VIII

Santana was sitting in the far back, wearing the biggest sunglasses Quinn had ever seen. "My mouth tastes like an old umbrella." She said in a thick voice, grabbing her glass of Coke and taking a sip. "I should be immune to alcohol. I don't know why it hasn't happened yet."

"Maybe you should cut down the drinking, Santana." Rachel said, earning a snicker from Santana in response. "Your health would be much better if you didn't drink like an old sailor."

Quinn's glare interrupted the bickering for enough time for the waitress to take their orders. "Be nice," Quinn mouthed to Santana before turning to Rachel. "And you're one to talk, Miss Pouty Hungover. I was the one to coax you out of bed today."

Rachel flipped her hair and looked indignant. "I deny those outrageous accusations, Quinn Fabray. I do not pout."

They laughed together. Quinn basked in their ease; in a rare moment, she felt like she belonged. She had her arm on the back of Rachel's chair, and they leaned against each other as they discussed the Met and New York.

Their orders arrived; Santana's gigantic hamburger started another roar of laughter and Rachel immediately proceeded to steal Quinn's fries. Quinn sipped her milkshake, not stopping Rachel; it was good to be comfortable like this again.

Santana looked like she was on the edge of glory and self realization. "I could die right know." She paused, her mouth full, and chewed a few more times. "Like, seriously die. I have nothing to look forward to in life after I finish this delicious, delicious hamburger."

Rachel rolled her eyes, holding back a smile. "I'll go to the bathroom before you have an orgasm. Be right back."

Santana wasted no time; as soon as Rachel was out of sight she turned to Quinn. "So, what's the deal with you and Berry?" She said nonchalantly, taking a bite of her hamburger.

Quinn frowned in confusion; she felt her hands go cold and her mouth go dry. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Santana put down her hamburger and looked into Quinn's eyes. "Let's keep things real. I have awesome gaydar, and that vibe you have with Rachel?" She made a hand gesture between Quinn and the place Rachel had been sitting. "All the touching, the puppy eyes, and the dancing yesterday? It's not a heterosexual friendship kind of thing."

Quinn shook her head. "You got it wrong. It would never happen."

"I didn't ask you that." Santana answered in a heartbeat; her calm against Quinn's nervousness felt even more unsettling. "I'm asking you if you want it. Do you?"

Quinn didn't know what to say.

She thought of Rachel, and how she felt better in her company. She thought of her own loneliness and how she never felt a real connection with any of her ex-boyfriends.

Santana seemed to realize something. "So many gay people. I'm surrounded by the gay. Was everyone gay in school?" She paused. "Well, we _were_ in Glee club."

Quinn stared back at Santana. "I'm not gay."

"That's still not what I'm asking." Santana said, and Quinn asked herself when had her friend learned those things. "But I'm here when you want to discuss the answer."

IX

Applause filled the room as the actors bowed to the audience. Quinn looked at Rachel and whispered on her ear, "it's going to be you someday," and Rachel's lips turned upwards in a slow smile.

Quinn could see Rachel up there, the leading lady to the series of small plays by NYADA's graduating class. If that group had enough energy to fill a room, Rachel would enchant the audience like a snake charmer.

People began to leave; Rachel reached for Quinn's hand. "It was lovely, wasn't it?" She said, turning to Quinn as they left the theater.

"I loved how the lead actor delivered his lines. It was so grave and severe towards the end." Quinn answered. The night was fresh; Quinn loved those days when the temperature was just starting to drop, the first signs of winter approaching.

Rachel hug Quinn's waist, biting her lip. Quinn could sense the expectation and the anxiety and kissed the top of Rachel's head. "Soon it'll be you," she repeated. "Just wait for it." She wondered how someone as powerful as Rachel could have an ounce of self doubt; her own faith in Rachel had never faded.

"I hope you'll be there to see it." Rachel said, snuggling into Quinn even more. Quinn turned to her, and Rachel rested her head on Quinn's chest.

"Front row." Quinn promised, running a hand through Rachel's brown hair. A warmth filled her from inside out, and a peace of mind she hadn't felt in a long time settled over her. "I still have a lot of Metro pass tickets to use to get here to see it."

Rachel muffled a laugh, making Quinn's skin tingle. "Next time, I'm the one buying them for you, okay?"

Quinn wished for a moment she wasn't just a visitor, and she imagined a life in which she was a constant, and not a fleeting presence. She pictured herself having dinner with Rachel on a Tuesday night and helping her with coursework; having brunch with Santana on a Sunday summer; watching Rachel rehearse, hidden in the back. She imagined all things mundane, from grocery shopping to washing the dishes to cooking together.

"Just don't bedazzle them or something like that." She said, holding a laugh. Rachel frowned and tried to look mad, to no success; as soon as she looked into Quinn's eyes the both of them were laughing.

X

Santana rushed Quinn inside a charming urban bistro. "This is going to be so good. I feel it already." A waitress with short brown hair waved at Santana, who waved back. "I love this place. Everything is orgasm inducing, I swear to God."

It was a simple place, with its red chairs and white tables and red folded napkins. It had a warmth to it; maybe it was the bright colors, or how everything was clean and spacious — or maybe it was the scent of food that filled the air and made Quinn's stomach rumble.

Quinn rolled her eyes at Santana and sat; the waitress came by and handed them the menus.

"Quinn, this is Jenna. Jenna, this is Quinn, a childhood friend of mine who also escaped Ohio." Jenna smiled warmly, and Quinn nodded her head in acknowledgment. Santana closed her menu without even glancing at it. "I know what we're having."

The waitress didn't wait to hear it. "Bacon — extra crispy — with eggs, sausages, some bread, a fruit salad, a muffin and a nice cup of strong, steaming hot coffee? Maybe some orange juice as well?"

Santana nodded; Quinn looked impressed. "I'm that predictable." She handed back the menus. "Make that for two. Thank you, Jenna."

"You're welcome." Jenna said politely before leaving.

"You know the best part?" Santana asked, and Quinn shook her head. "Rachel is not here to give us that Rachel look of 'Animal Rights Should Be Respected!' or 'You Neanderthals!'. We can eat all the bacon we want. We can make sweet love to the bacon and she'll never know."

Quinn gave Santana's arm a little slap before laughing.

Santana's phone interrupted them. "Hey, baby." She said, and Quinn witnessed Santana's features softening as she turned to the left to take the call. Quinn smiled — Santana was always at her best when she was with Brittany. She let them talk, because it was rare to see Santana so gentle. "I love you too," Santana said, small and quiet, before the call ended.

"You guys are beautiful together." Quinn said; Santana rolled her eyes and dismissed her. "And you don't have to be so tough all the time."

"Neither do you," Santana answered, right on spot; her eyebrows lifted in silent challenge.

Jenna came with their orders, giving Quinn time to regroup. She thought of high school and always hiding behind something, and she thought of the previous night after the play and not hiding at all.

"How did you know you — you were in love?" She asked, sipping her orange juice.

Santana thought for a second, chewing her eggs slowly. "I don't know. First we were friends. Brittany understood me so much it scared me. It's not common to have someone who just gets you, and I felt happy just by being around her." She paused, playing with the napkin. "And there was kissing, and exploring… Nothing ever felt that good. All the boys — they couldn't compare."

Quinn bit her lip. She had dated boys for status, and sometimes for an exit route, but none of them had gotten under her skin. She had never been as comfortable with them as she had been with Rachel pressed against her after the play.

She had never been so honest with anyone.

Santana cleared her throat. "Is there something you want to tell me, Quinn?" She asked, looking up into Quinn's eyes. Quinn felt naked, but without judgement, for once.

"Maybe. I don't know." Quinn answered, running a hand through her hair. "Never mind."

XI

Quinn washed the dishes after lunch when Rachel came into the kitchen. She looked at Quinn for a long time, leaning against the counter by Quinn's side. "I know what you did at senior prom." She finally said.

Quinn wet her lips, washing the last plates and placing them aside. She tried to control her breathing, her heartbeat; she wasn't ready for that conversation. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Rachel touched Quinn's back, and Quinn finally looked in her eyes. "I know you rigged the prom queen election, Quinn. You were the real winner." She sounded soft and tentative; her fingers drew random patterns on Quinn's back.

"You weren't supposed to know that." Quinn dried her hands and turned to Rachel just as she took another step forward. Quinn could smell her perfume; she felt dizzy with the proximity.

"Why did you do that?" Rachel asked. She was too intense, too blunt for Quinn; Quinn didn't know what to do. "I need to know."

Quinn sighed. She placed a lock of hair behind Rachel's ear. "You wanted it so much. And you… you deserve to get what you want, Rachel." She paused, eyebrows furrowing as she tried to put it in words. "I had the power to give it to you — and maybe that would be enough of a reparation for everything I had done."

Rachel sniffed; Quinn saw there were tears in her eyes. She wiped off the first one as it fell and pulled Rachel towards her, so their bodies fully met.

"I know I never told you, but I _am_ sorry." Quinn said, one hand still on Rachel's face, cupping her cheeks. Rachel kept crying in silence, looking into Quinn's eyes with something unnamed.

It was during the silence that Quinn understood.

It hit her like a train. She wanted it. She wanted Rachel.

Her hands shook and her head spun; she wanted to have weekends like these with Rachel, to call her during the day and listen to her voice, to be in the front row when Rachel started performing, and to be there for her when things got rough.

"Thank you." Rachel whispered, clutching to Quinn's shirt. Her breath mingled with Quinn's as Quinn held her. "You don't know how much this means to me — how much _you_ mean to me."

Rachel's thumbs ran in circles on Quinn's collarbone, leaving goosebumps on her skin. Quinn held tighter to Rachel, arms around her; they were touching everywhere and Rachel was everything.

She looked into Rachel's eyes and she knew what was going to happen next.

XII

Their lips met gently, at first; Quinn closed her eyes and sighed. Rachel still clung to her when she kissed Quinn's bottom lip and took it between hers. It was perfection. Quinn's right hand went to Rachel's neck as she searched for Rachel's lips again.

Rachel ran her tongue on Quinn's lip, and Quinn could feel her knees buckle. She leaned against the counter in the search for support; the coincidental discovery she could use the position to get Rachel even closer, standing between her legs, made her whimper.

Rachel ran her tongue along Quinn's lip once again, but this time Quinn was prepared. She opened her mouth and allowed their tongues to meet, slow and certain, as the kiss grew more confident. She massaged Rachel's tongue with her own; her hands roamed all over Rachel's back, feeling every muscle tensing and relaxing beneath her fingers.

The tiny sounds Rachel was making made Quinn electric and breathless at the same time. Rachel had her hands in Quinn's hair, pulling and taking control of their kiss; it was incredibly sensual to let Rachel have her way like this, and Quinn was happy to oblige.

She let Rachel explore her mouth as much as she wanted.

Rachel kissed her neck, slow and wet; she sucked on Quinn's pulse point; she grazed her teeth over her shoulder. Quinn had her mouth half open, unable to form any coherent sound. She grabbed Rachel's ass and squeezed; Rachel bit Quinn's lip in response, and it was Quinn's turn to moan. She felt hot, and she kissed Rachel again; her tongue sliding against Rachel's was almost too much.

Rachel pulled away a bit. "Quinn-" she caught her breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and they smiled at each other. Quinn wet her lips; Rachel stared and swallowed dry.

It was exhilarating to cause such a reaction. "Rachel." Quinn said, running a hand through Rachel's hair.

Rachel cleared her throat. "Did we just-"

Quinn nodded and smiled again. "Yes." She hid her face in the crook of Rachel's neck and nuzzled; Rachel shivered, sending her hands to Quinn's hair to keep her right there.

"In the middle of my kitchen-"

"I believe that's accurate." Quinn answered against Rachel's skin. She took her time placing soft kisses on Rachel's shoulder and heard her hum contentedly.

"I wouldn't mind doing it again," Rachel said, and Quinn laughed. "We do have a few hours before you have to leave." Quinn kissed her, feeling Rachel's smile.

For once, Quinn felt like there were good things to come.


End file.
